Sunday, May 30, 2010

To Sleep

We are becoming a latticework

of teeth and tongues

of pulses and thrum

but it’s all just the sum

of static recollections

playing the old favorites and dreamy remixes

I want so bad to be fresh premonitions

so our “mmms…” can be foretold.

I can feel the sweat

running into my collarbone

rippling with the bang of

a headboard slamming like a screen door

in a storm,

somewhere far away,

my name is whispered

creeping over the shadowy curve

of her shoulder, rolling down the spine

against my flexing fingertips

gripping hips that slowly twist

in time with her sheet-grabbing fits,

linen clawed in balled fists.

We are kissed by the building fury

that causes our gasps to hurry

because our throats

can’t contain the force, a hushed Morse code

tapping the backs of our lips

I admit,

I love it when

these images persist

then fade, signaling the end

of my rapid eye movement

guiding these segments

like a subconscious maestro

fingering the trigger

on his magnum opus.

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